Chapter 2 #2
He snorted. “Yeah, my dad was a cop, said it was tough when he’d have to pull over a car for speeding only to find a wrinkled little blue hair behind the wheel.
For the most part, they drive slow as fuck, but then once in a while you get an eighty-five-year-old Mario Andretti with a medical alert bracelet, going sixty in a school zone. ”
To Brock’s surprise and delight—which also surprised him—she burst out laughing, nodded and then slammed back the shot in front of her. Damn, she was cute. And she smelled incredible.
He nodded, signaled Mickey and told him to put everything on his “tab.”
Krista finally finished that last fry and drained the water glass in front of her. She let out a loud and satisfying ah before lifting her head and batting her lashes at him.
“You look different from the picture on your license,” she said. “I like your hair longer. And your face has filled out.”
His skin prickled. He hoped to God she didn’t ask anything personal. Brock never got personal.
She leaned forward so their faces were only six inches apart. Her breath smelled of tequila and ketchup, but it was quickly overpowered by the most divine scent—floral and sweet with a hint of spice. It wrapped around him and he had to force himself not to shut his eyes and inhale deeply.
“Hmm?” he hummed, wondering what she was looking at.
She blinked those diamond blues at him and smiled coyly. “You have beautiful green eyes. And the scruff beard is hot, definitely better than the clean-shaved look of your picture.”
She’d remembered that much about him? Was she coming on to him? Was she always this forward, or was the tequila making her brazen? Either way he didn’t care. She was hot as fuck, and if she said the word, he’d have her home and clawing up his back before the clock struck twelve.
“You owe me, you know,” she said with only a slight slur to her words.
He decided to play along. “I do, do I? I bought you a burger and covered your tab. I’d say we’re square for whatever it is you think I owe you.”
With a sultry little lip bite and a head shake that tousled those untameable curls of hers, she said, “Nuh-uh.”
“Nuh-uh?”
“I let you off with a warning. And we both know you were speeding right up until you saw me. You tossed on the brakes at the perfect moment.”
Well, she had him there.
“So I owe you then?”
She nodded.
“I’m not sure you should be drinking anymore, and I’m not a fan of dessert. How do you propose I owe you … constable?”
Her pink tongue darted out between her lips and ran seductively along the seam. “Stumbling distance?”
A growl built at the back of his throat. He hadn’t gotten laid in ages, and this little sprite had him sporting a half-chub since earlier in the day. Did she have her handcuffs with her still? Maybe an officer’s hat?
Sliding off the barstool, he slung his leather jacket on and held out his hand. “We’ll be there in less than ten.”
She was all grins as she hopped off the barstool. Did she not have a coat? It was freaking cold outside. All she seemed to have was a worn and weathered gray hoodie. The woman needed a coat.
She followed him to the door, which he held open for her. The wind hit them both in the face like a wet slap, and she immediately shivered, pulling her hood up and shielding her face with her hand.
Brock grabbed her other hand again and pulled her along, only to stop when they were shielded from the wind.
He pulled off his leather jacket and held it out for her with nothing but a grunt.
She slipped her slender arms into it and then, without a word, he grabbed her hand again and pulled her into the night and the wicked autumn weather.
It was like something out of a movie. He unlocked the door to his house, revealing nothing scary or remarkable, just your run-of-the-mill dark and cold foyer, with a shoe rack, a coat hook, and a bowl for keys.
Then, before Krista knew it, he was on her.
His hands in her hair, his warm, hard, delicious body pressing up against hers.
Their lips and tongues danced and dueled as they furiously fought to relieve one another of clothes.
It was their first kiss. They hadn’t said a word, or more like he hadn’t said a word on the ten-minute jog through the rain.
It’d just been a series of grunts as he let her know which house was his and fished his keys out of the massive leather jacket she was wearing.
But maybe that’s the way it was supposed to go.
No pleasantries, no mindless chit-chat or get-to-know-you bullshit.
Because she didn’t really care who this Brock guy was at the moment.
All she cared about was that he was promising to help her forget her shitty day with orgasms, and that was good enough for Krista.
At least for tonight.
Moaning from how good he tasted, from the ferocity of his kiss, she leaped up and wrapped her legs around his hips.
With a moan of his own, he stalked up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom.
His tongue held power, thrusting in and out of her mouth, swirling and diving with such animalistic force, such primitive need, that all she wanted to do was bite him, every hard inch of him.
Bite his lips, bite his chin, bite his pecs, bite his abs, bite his ass.
He tossed her onto his bed and then quickly started to strip, so she did the same.
He’d already relieved her of his jacket and her hoodie on their way from the door to his room, so all that was left was her blue T-shirt, jeans, and underwear.
She was down to her panties and bra in seconds, and when she glanced back up, there he stood.
Godlike, but so very, very real. Not just a beautiful figment of her inebriated imagination.
Big, hard, toned and so goddamn gorgeous all she could do was stare.
The rain had ebbed on their jog over, the fierce wind pushing away the dark bulbous clouds.
So now the moon was out, high and bright and peeking in through the blinds at them like a dirty voyeur.
Its bright light cast his body and face into menacing shadows, forcing harsh angles to be chiseled even sharper, but they only made him look all the more handsome.
Fearsome and mysterious. His square jaw was set into a determined scowl, and even in the moonlight she could tell his eyes were the fiercest emerald green she’d ever seen.
She reached for him. “Help me end my day right,” she purred. Hoping it sounded as sexy out loud as it did in her head.
His grin was salacious. Then slowly, ever so slowly, as though he thought he might crush her, he lowered his body down onto hers.
But his mouth wasn’t nearly as gentle. He plundered her.
Took and took with his lips, teeth and tongue.
Stole the air from her lungs and demanded moans from the back of her throat.
Was he trying to make her come just from his kisses?
Because with the way things were going, that wasn’t entirely off the table.
He tasted like beer, but she probably tasted like cheap tequila, and in the end, it didn’t matter.
They both knew what this was. It was hot, sweaty, need-driven, make-each-other-feel-good drunk sex with a stranger.
The fact that there was beer on his breath as his tongue massaged hers into passive submission only spurred her on, made her want him, made her want his body and this night even more.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked up into him, feeling the granite hard length of him press into her pelvis.
She ached to touch it, to feel him in her palm, to watch his face as she brought him pleasure.
But she hardly had time to finish that thought before his mouth left hers and began traveling down her body.
His hands roamed and unlatched the front clasp of her bra, allowing her breasts to spill out.
Warm, wet kisses were dropped along her chest and nipples, her ribcage, her belly button, her mound, and then lower.
His fingers made deft work of removing her panties.
“No, no!” she protested, having had enough one-night stands in her day to know that oral sex was not always expected in this sort of situation. It was a bump-uglies, scratch-an-itch kind of situation, right?
But he just grunted and flicked out his tongue, hitting her clit in just the right spot, which caused her leg to jerk and practically knee him in the skull.
He chuckled diabolically but didn’t lift his head or stop his delicious torment.
Instead he spread her wide with his big fingers and dove in deeper.
Lips, tongue, nose and fingers all brought her insane pleasure, coaxing and thrusting, lapping and kissing.
She was wild for him, wild for an orgasm, but as he continued and the tequila seeped deeper into her body, she knew she’d only be able to manage one climax for the night, so it had to be a good one.
“Oh God … ” she moaned, grinding up into his face.
She caressed her breasts, tugging on her hard, achy nipples.
Unlike earlier, when she was chilled to the bone, now she was scorching hot.
Her hands moved down her body to rest on top of his head.
His hair was soft. A bit of a longer buzz cut, but he pulled it off.
It tickled her inner thighs as his head continued to bob up and down, his mouth doing despicably wonderful things.
In drunken curiosity, she continued to explore his head, traced the outer shell of his ear with her fingers, felt the muscles of his forehead and brow pinched in complete and utter concentration.
Damn, even a blind woman would know this man was sexy.